It’s been fun watching Pariah Beat evolve from a pack of ex-Vermont woodland critters searching for a niche into a well-oiled, dark Americana/gospel/klezmer/polka (yeah, polka) machine that kills fascists and doesn’t need no stinking niche. They’re destined to amass a big kooky cult following, and reckless abandon has made their live show all the more phenomenal, but Pariah Beat Radio might have benefitted from some tactful restraint. The new release echoes the band’s former problem: for a while, out of some nine members, four or five made vital contributions while the rest played tambourine, washboard, or something equally superfluous. (No offense Tim, Patty, anybody’s girlfriend, or the three guys named Eli.) ’Twas fun, but impractical. Pariah Beat have since condensed into a steady quintet (though multi-instrumentalist wunderkind Billy Sharff might as well be six musicians in one). Radio is an 18-song, hour-long colossus of which much is amazing: “Come On In,” “City Far Away,” and “Tipperary,” to name a few. Some bits, however, feel disorderly next to their better-behaved neighbors. Pariah Beat put plenty of alt-country/punk-folk-type bands in town to shame, but they’re not up to Munly’s caliber . . . yet.

In and out of fashion Something felt eerie about scruffy, squirrelly Rhode Island trio Deer Tick as they entertained the bleep out of the densely occupied VFW.

Save yourselves The media-propagated notion that the Canadian sextet Fucked Up are "saving hardcore" seems silly.

Sweet release I don’t want to waste your time waxing philosophical about the problematic logic behind qualifying music “good” or “bad,” much less pontificating on whether “sophisticated punk” is an oxymoron.

Feign and fortune McNallica shredded upon nothingness like an unholy hybrid of Mick Mars and a feral burlesque dancer.

Better late than ever The eternal argument over what is and is not punk rock has been run into the ground for so long, it’s become a cliché — and clichés are so not punk.

Dark matter To paraphrase some wisdom from Jake "The Snake" Roberts, if a man has power, he never has to raise his voice. Jake was explaining why, unlike his adversaries, he didn't keep screaming gibberish. But it's a universal truth.

Ruse music Not that they’d be the first band to pad their résumé in their one-sheet, but even by industry standards, Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling’s backstory tests the threshold of plausibility.

HOW TO DESTROY ANGELS | WELCOME OBLIVION | March 13, 2013 Whereas the monsters and ghosts of NIN songs can scream in your face and rip you to bits with their fangs, Welcome Oblivion tracks like techno-folk haunter "Ice Age" and the doom-pop jaunt "How Long?" make uncredited cameo appearances in your nightmares until you go insane and eat your own hands.

JOHNNY MARR | THE MESSENGER | February 25, 2013 Going solo is rarely a good decision. For every exception to the rule of who flourishes after unburdening themselves of the half-talents that have been holding them back — Justin Timberlake, for one — there are dozens of embarrassing Dee Dee Ramone rap albums that exist because Joey and Johnny Ramone weren't around to kibosh a terrible idea.

WHAT'S F'N NEXT? BUKE AND GASE | January 29, 2013 Almost every person I've told about Buke and Gase assumes that they'll hate this band, which isn't their fault.

BLEEDING RAINBOW | YEAH RIGHT | January 23, 2013 The only defect of the sort-of-but-not-really debut from Bleeding Rainbow (no longer called Reading Rainbow, possibly due to litigious ire festering under LeVar Burton's genial television persona) is that the Philly foursome merely hop off the launching point forged by Sonic Youth, My Bloody Valentine, and a handful of others from the oft-exalted grunge era.